


The stories that we don’t tell

by Teethteethteethteethteethteethteeth



Category: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys: National Anthem (Comics)
Genre: Backstory, Gen, If descriptions of dead bodies freak you out this may not be great for ya, no actual violence but some gore, nonbinary mike as per usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:07:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27273910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teethteethteethteethteethteethteeth/pseuds/Teethteethteethteethteethteethteeth
Summary: It started with the first Killjoy.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 7





	The stories that we don’t tell

It didn’t start out all bright colors and fast cars, dying with your friends by your side. 

It started with a scared little kid and their father’s stone-cold body, skin already shades of purple, face split open from the weight of his blood by the time you managed to unlock the door to your room and escape. You never did find out what killed him, never did find out what set you free, be it a long-welcome heart attack, or some other, more human method. 

It started when you made it, after several months of hitchhiking, of doubling back on your own path out of sheer confusion, to the closest big city you could name, clutching a zipgun liberated from one of your more seedy travel companions. 

You cherrypicked your first name from the kindest of your uncles, long estranged. Your last name from an empty orange bottle, clattering against the bathroom tile as you rummage through a stranger’s bag, left unattended at a rest stop. 

The pink comes from when you needed to look older, get well-meaning adults off your case— the color was the closest to the door, the easiest to slip off the shelf and run with. After that, it just stuck. 

And you pieced yourself together, made your own history stolen from short stories in magazines, stolen from the odd radio program— you never knew if they were real or not, couldn’t spell ‘fictional’ if you tried, but the stories you tell are as real as the ones you try to forget. 

And so, you become Mike Milligram.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment below, and come find me on tumblr @wishiwasthemoon-tonight!


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